Chapter Twenty

Never call a Kerryman a fool until you're sure he's not a rogue.

—Irish Proverb

 

Friday dawned wet and dismal. Considering the day's inhospitable purpose, Jenna could have wished for nothing better. Dev had begun to coordinate his plan well before sunrise. When he'd gathered everyone last night and begged their help, Breege Flaherty had summed up Ballymuir's feelings by calling him "a frightful sharp man."

Of course, he'd soon won them over. Ballymuir's citizens enjoyed nothing more than a good meddle. And if repelling a British incursion came with the game, all the better. Dev had organized his troops brilliantly. There was little point in altering Muir House itself, since Harwood's plans were to obliterate it. Matters outside her home's walls were the main focus.

Jenna knew that by now her neighbor Mr. Horrigan would have taken his flock of sheep for a visit to the village—a day to see the sights, as it were. He'd been quite anxious to help, explaining that he'd agreed to the purchase option only because it was contingent on Harwood also buying Muir House. He'd taken a hefty sum of deposit money, feeling certain that he'd never actually have to sell, since he knew how much she loved her home. Now that he had all the facts, he and his sheep were in open rebellion. Those who usually parked their cars on the village's tight streets had agreed to relocate for the day to give the beasts their run. Ballymuir wasn't to be so much a ghost town as a pungent sheep town.

Soon the landowners across the road from Muir House would be putting the finishing touches on the auto repair yard that yesterday they'd decided to open. Every last rusted relic usually lingering behind its owner's shed or decomposing in a field should be nicely tucked in opposite her house's beautiful entry. As for the other dynamics of Dev's plan, they weren't as static as crumpled and flattened cars, or quite as fluid as frightened sheep could be.

Lorcan O'Connor had been enlisted to aid with communications using his legion of cell phones and walkie-talkies, all assigned to roadside sentries. As the Harwood contingent approached, livestock would be brought from high fields to low, a slow process known to hold traffic for long stretches. And when the executives finally reached Ballymuir, yet another set of challenges awaited. Those, Jenna planned to see for herself.

She hurriedly dressed and then stopped to pound on her sister's door. "Get up, you two. The show's about to begin!"

 

Dev was well pleased with the sheep. He was also well pleased that the rain had crept into the mountains long enough for his other diversions to proceed. In making his plans, he had relied on two essential components for a resort site: acceptable access and surroundings conducive to relaxation. God willing, Harwood would find neither.

He had equally addressed matters of human nature. Trevor, whom Margaret had told him to expect, was about to move to the corporate pinnacle. What happened in Ballymuir was no longer his burden. He would make polite noises, but his brain would be elsewhere. And Dev knew Sid Barrett for a lazy man, one interested in the surface aspects of business. Ballymuir would be the Costa Rican deal all over again, with Sid trying to grasp the nuances well after the fact.

From Dev's vantage point in the window of Spillane's Market—hidden behind a tall display of laundry soap—he watched a black sedan inch its way downhill. In it were four men, including Sid, who, according to the last farmer creating a bovine roadblock, was "spittin' mad." Dev didn't doubt it. Sid and patience seldom crossed paths.

This was not the group's first trip through town, but their third. The signposted road to Muir House was marked as under construction. And the resulting detour was perfectly circular, a route Dev knew he couldn't maintain much longer. Even Vi Kilbride's marvelous flirtation skills could keep the local Gardai's heads turned from a spurious roadblock for only so long.

Dev smiled as Barrett marched from the car and tried to clear wet and stupid sheep from a parking space. Black suit, white sheep...there was a certain perfect simplicity to the scene. Dev wasn't sure who was more frightened, Barrett or the sheep. The sheep held the edge in the eerily expressionless department, though. Finally, after Trevor and a man Dev recognized from the New York office also climbed from the car and lent a hand, the humans managed to claim a bit of the curb.

Now some grand fun would begin.

"Come watch," Dev urged Jenna, who tiptoed from behind the tinned vegetables to join him.

In addition to the sheep, Dev had arranged for a ladies' tea on the sidewalk—in full wedding guest regalia, of course. Edna McCafferty's lace-draped hat was at least three feet across. Concealed in its frippery was a walkie-talkie, the mate to which rested in Dev's hand. But even if Ballymuir's visitors might have been inclined to examine Edna's hat, there was too much else to take their attention. Tiny Breege Flaherty was nearly missing beneath her screaming yellow chapeau. The rest of the village's senior set was arrayed in peacock brightness, making their stretch of sidewalk as difficult to navigate as the street.

Barrett approached the women.

"Hello, can you help me?" he asked. Each word had been delivered slowly, as though he thought his audience might be addled, non-English-speaking, or both.

Edna looked him up and down. "I don't recall inviting you to the ceremony, young man."

"Look," he said waving one hand as he had at the sheep, "all I'm trying to do is—"

Mr. Clancy stepped from a doorway. The hardware store owner spat a fraction of an inch from Barrett's glossy shoes before saying, "You nearly hit my favorite sheep, parking up there."

Barrett pulled his gaze from the glob of spittle in front of his left toe. He looked itching to brawl, but apparently still had enough composure to hold back. "We're trying to find Muir House."

"Follow the signs," Clancy replied with all the graciousness for which he was renowned.

"We've followed the signs three goddamn times and we always end up back here."

"So you're lookin' for another way, then?"

An unhealthy shade of purple climbed the New Yorker's face. "Of course we're looking for another way. Do you think we like driving through this goddamn river of sheep?"

"You needn't be rude," Breege Flaherty called to Barrett before passing tea cakes to her companions.

Barrett took an aggressive step toward her, but Edna rose. She was an impressive figure of a woman, enough to slow any man not interested in finding his teeth relocated.

"Fine, then," Clancy said. "At the end of town, you'll see a roadside well. Turn right. The road might not look like much, but it will be gettin' you there."

"Great," Barrett snapped.

"And mind the sheep," Clancy added as the man stalked back to his car.

In the market, Jenna kissed Dev. "The old Dingle Road? It's nothing more than weeds and ruts. I wouldn't send my worst enemy up that."

He smiled. "But we just did."

Jenna jogged downhill toward the harbor and the arts village, where she'd left her car outside Vi's studio. Breathless with a mix of excitement, fear, and general under-exercise, she turned right and nearly ran into two women coming the opposite way.

"Sorry," she called, but didn't slow.

"Wait!"

Knowing she had time before the Harwood people found their way back down the long-abandoned path they'd been sent to travel, Jenna turned back. "Yes?"

A blond-haired woman who Jenna thought was her age or maybe a bit older asked, "You're Jenna Fahey from Muir House, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I won't be taking much of your time. I just wanted to say that we visited Muir House last night. It was, without exception, the most, ehm ... unusual meal I've had."

Jenna smiled. "Sorry, but I threw away the rule book last night."

"Then you might consider leaving it in the bin," the woman said as her companion nodded in agreement. "I've never done this before, but as today also seems to be a day for tossing out rules around here, I'm Eibhlinn Darcy from Guide Eireann."

Jenna worked up a squeak she hoped would pass for a polite response as she shook the woman's extended hand.

"I'm advising my superiors that we raise you to three stars, just so you know," the food critic said. "You'd be one of only ten in the guide, so I'm expecting that you'll be visited by others on staff before it's final."

"Thank you! Wow... I... Hell." Jenna hugged the woman and followed up with a kiss to each cheek.

She had her stars, but would she keep her home?

 

It was nearly three by the time Barrett and his friends arrived at Muir House. Their sedan, which seemed to be dragging a good portion of its rear bumper, shuddered to a stop in the drive. As Barrett, Trevor, and the other New Yorker made their way to the entry, Dev straightened the cuffs to his shirt and gave a check in the mirror as to the rest of himself. It wouldn't do to look less than his best.

Dev opened the front door. "Welcome to Muir House, gentlemen."

If they were surprised to see him, they were too weary to react. Barrett had unmentionable stains on his suit, and Trevor was digging at an empty cigarette pack as though a phantom smoke might still lurk within.

"You said this site was less than three hours from the Shannon Airport. It's bloody closer to five, and that's not counting the death march we just survived," his boss said in way of a greeting.

Ah, the airport driver Margaret had secured had done well. "Five hours, really?" Dev said. "I hadn't noticed."

"And that's if the ferry is running on time," Barrett added.

So they'd had a full tour of County Clare, including a ride across the mouth of the lovely River Shannon. How wonderful.

"Well, you're here now and that's what counts, yes?" Dev asked.

"No," Barrett replied flatly. "This place is the back ass of nowhere and populated by a pack of goddamn loons. Sheep everywhere and dressed-up old bats having tea on the sidewalk."

"Too much local color?"

"Rather grotty junkyard out front, too," Trevor added.

Dev managed an apologetic wince. "That's new, I'm afraid. The McCauleys are weary of farming. Now, would you like a look around?"

"No," Barrett spat.

"No?" Dev echoed.

"No. What I want is to get on a plane and never see you or another sheep for the rest of my goddamn life. I know when I've been screwed with," Barrett said.

The moment was here, but somehow Dev felt far away. Perhaps on some level he'd seen this day coming for years now—though admittedly not quite in this form.

Dev produced his finest corporate smile. "That's grand, Barrett. Now, I can do nothing about the sheep, but I can promise you'll see me no more." He pulled an envelope from his breast pocket. "Trevor, this is for you. It's been a wild time working for you, but I'm done."

Trevor's brows arched with disbelief. "You know what you're giving up?"

"Yes, but I also know what I'm gaining."

Trevor looked to the two Americans and then back at Dev. "Is there someplace private we can speak?"

Dev ushered Trevor toward the blue salon. He hid a smile as Jenna, Maureen, and Sam quickly ducked into the library doorway just as he and Trevor rounded the corner.

Dev closed the salon door behind himself and the man who had been his mentor. Before speaking, Trevor took a loop of the room, stopping to look at the photographs of Jenna with friends and family.

"She's quite lovely," he said in the offhand way that was his trademark.

"Quite," Dev replied with equal understatement.

"And would I be amiss in guessing that you're throwing away a career over her?"

Trevor had always been remarkably perceptive.

"Since I love her, I prefer to view it as righting my course," Dev said.

"Righting your course?" Incredulity had crept into Trevor's even tones. "Did you not understand me when we spoke in London? Two years, Dev, then it would all be yours. Two years after how many?"

"Almost eleven," Dev replied.

"Insanity."

Dev expelled a slow breath. "Trevor, I'm not asking you to understand this, or to give me your opinion, or even to wish me well. I thank you for the years and all I've learned, but it's time for me to do something else."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"And how many hours is it from Shannon Airport to Muir House by the direct route?" Trevor asked.

"Two, when I drive. Two and a wee bit more for anyone else."

"As I suspected," Trevor said. He picked up a photograph of Jenna and smiled. "God knows I'm no romantic, but it appears that you just might be."

"That, I might." Dev hesitated before asking the greatest favor of his life. "Will you steer Sid elsewhere for me?"

Trevor set the photograph back on the mantel. "To the degree it's needed, yes. I've never seen a man hate Ireland as fiercely as Sid Barrett."

"Then Ireland is well blessed."

Laughing, Trevor extended his hand. "I do wish you well, Dev."

Together they walked back to the front hall, where Sid was picking bits of whatever off his suit.

"Gentlemen," Dev said, "there's another car waiting for you in the car park by the gates. Shall I see you out?"

"You can see yourself to hell," Sid spat.

Trevor, Sid, and the silent minion left. With that, all Dev had worked for was gone.

And he was vastly relieved.

Jenna came round the corner and flung herself in his arms.

"Will you marry me, mo chroi?" he asked, after spinning her in a dizzy circle.

"Yes!" she cried, and never would Dev doubt for the depth of her joy. Home, heart, and truth were now his.